I remember the day I found out she was pregnant like it was yesterday. Pure, unadulterated joy. She was practically my sister. We’d dreamed of this, talked about nurseries and tiny shoes for years. And now, it was happening for her. My heart swelled with a happiness so profound it felt like my own. I was going to be the best “auntie” a child could ever ask for.
When it came time to plan the baby shower, I threw myself into it with an intensity I rarely reserve for my own life. This wasn’t just a party; it was a celebration of everything we’d hoped for, a testament to her beautiful journey into motherhood. I wanted it to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.For weeks, I poured over Pinterest boards, lost myself in Etsy shops, and spent countless evenings hunched over my kitchen table. I crafted tiny, intricate onesie garlands by hand, each stitch a silent wish for her and the baby. I baked dozens of themed cookies, staying up until the early hours, my back aching but my spirit soaring.
I designed custom game cards, painstakingly researched the best diaper cake tutorials, and even coordinated with her partner to make sure the surprise element was flawless. I bought the most thoughtful gift, something I knew she’d cherish, wrapped with a handwritten card expressing all my love and excitement.My apartment became a workshop of baby-themed chaos. Ribbons, glitter, pastel fabrics, and tiny baby socks were everywhere. My own partner would come home and laugh, asking if I was sure I wasn’t the one expecting. I’d just smile, a little exhausted but beaming. “It’s for her,” I’d say. “She deserves the best.”
Irina Shayk with Lea De Seine Shayk Cooper seen in the West Village on July 17, 2019, in New York City The day before the shower, I was practically vibrating with anticipation. Everything was ready. The venue was booked, the catering confirmed, the decorations meticulously packed into boxes, ready for transport. My special dessert was cooling on the counter, smelling divine. My outfit was laid out. I’d rehearsed my little speech, the one about how proud I was of her, about the beautiful mother I knew she’d be. I even shed a few happy tears during my practice. God, I was so ready.
Then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from her. A simple text.
“Hey, I need to talk to you.”
My heart did a little flutter. She’s probably just excited, I thought. Maybe she wants to know if everything’s okay. I called her back immediately, a bright, cheerful “Hey! What’s up?” already on my lips.
Her voice was flat. Lifeless. No “hey” back. No warmth.
“Listen,” she said, and her voice cracked. “I… I need you not to come tomorrow.”
My smile froze. “What? What are you talking about? The shower? Everything’s ready. The cake, the decorations—”
“No. Don’t come. I can’t… I can’t have you there.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. The air rushed out of my lungs. “But… why? What did I do? Is everything okay? Is it about the baby?” My mind raced, frantically searching for an explanation, any explanation. Had I accidentally upset her? Said something wrong? Forgotten something crucial?
“I just… I can’t explain right now. Just… please, respect my wishes.” Her voice was trembling. Then, she hung up.
HUNG UP. Just like that.
I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. My carefully constructed world, filled with pastel ribbons and happy anticipation, shattered into a million pieces around me. I felt cold. Numb. Uninvited. After weeks, weeks of my heart and soul poured into this
Lea de Seine seen with a Gucci bag in Soho on September 8, 2020, in New York City | Source: Getty Images
I stared at the finished cake on the counter, at the pile of handcrafted decorations, at the perfectly wrapped gift. Each item, once a symbol of joy, now felt like an accusation. What could I possibly have done to deserve this? The questions swirled, a dizzying, suffocating vortex of confusion and pain. I replayed every conversation, every interaction we’d had recently. Nothing. Absolutely nothing felt wrong. We were fine. We were family.
Hours later, curled in a ball on my sofa, the unread messages from other friends asking about final details stinging my eyes, a single, cold thought cut through the despair. It had to be something big. Something monumental. Because this wasn’t her. Not the sister-friend I knew.
Then, a sickening memory surfaced. My partner, coming home late, smelling faintly of a perfume I didn’t recognize. His evasiveness about where he’d been. The way he’d been so distant these past few months. His strange reaction when I’d gushed about her pregnancy, a flinch, a sudden change of subject. I’d dismissed it. Said he was just stressed with work. Always work.
And then, a flash. A shared glance I’d seen between them weeks ago at a group dinner. A quick, almost imperceptible exchange of eyes that I’d brushed off as nothing. Just friends. But it lingered. It had a weight I hadn’t understood then.
A cold dread began to seep into my bones, replacing the confusion with something far more terrifying. My hands started to shake. The flat tone of her voice. The way she couldn’t explain. “I can’t have you there.”
My gaze fell on the baby shower card I’d written, still sitting by the gift. “To my dearest friend, I can’t wait to meet your little miracle. He’s going to be so loved.”
He. She was having a boy.
A slow, creeping realization, horrifying in its clarity, began to bloom in my mind. OH MY GOD.
The way she had looked at him that night. The perfume. His late nights. Her sudden uninvitation, so brutal, so absolute.
She knows.
Bradley Cooper at the 81st Annual Golden Globe Awards on January 7, 2024, in Beverly Hills, California | Source: Getty Images
And then, the final, crushing blow. The true reason for the uninvitation slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave, washing away all confusion, leaving only devastation.
She uninvited me because the baby… the baby she’s carrying… is my partner’s. And she can’t face me, because she’s carrying his child, and I have no idea. And she probably wants me to find out this way. Or she just can’t bear to look at me, the innocent party, without revealing the truth.
The carefully crafted onesie garlands, the sweet-smelling cake, the thoughtfully chosen gift, all became monuments to my own blind, agonizing ignorance. I didn’t just spend hours preparing for a baby shower. I spent hours preparing for a life that was never mine, celebrating a betrayal that was right under my nose. My world, my entire relationship, everything I thought I knew, was a lie. And the shower, the celebration of new life, was the final, devastating reveal of my greatest heartbreak.
